Learning to Trust
by Purplerhino
Summary: #3 of the “Learning”series. Oneshot. Complete. Reference to “Learning to Dance” PG-13 AZ/Jeb, DG mentioned Sometimes you have to give trust to receive it.


Title: Learning to Trust

Author: purplerhino

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not a thing. Scifi and Baum ultimately own it. I don't own property or money, so suing me would be pointless.

**#3** of the **"Learning" **Series. Oneshot.

Spoilers: Everything.

Rating: PG-16

Characters/Pairing: AZ/Jeb, DG mentioned

* * *

She fit in with the night. The moonlight complimented her. Her pale complexion shone, the silver wash erased the signs of strain and wariness. Her short mop of ink black hair seemed to blend into the darkness, glistening in the occasional garden light, but mostly graced by the lunar illumination.

She was a creature of dark and light, both fragile and strong. The dichotomy of her made her sharper, more real than anything around her.

Jeb breathed in the air, redolent with the aroma of floral perfumes and green growing things as he watched Azkadellia sitting on the edge of a fountain for a moment. He could hear the soothing drizzle and gurgle of the fountain joined the scents to create a serene escape from the often chaotic palace. The whole scene seemed something from one of the old tales, or some poet's imaginings. It imprinted itself on his mind to forever keep and cherish.

"I know you're there, Jeb. No need to act like a voyeur." There was sadness and a bit of hurt in her tone. Her dark eyes didn't turn to him.

"I actually came to ask if you'd like some company." Jeb stepped out of the archway he'd stood in, boldly crossing the small flagstone courtyard area. "Have I done something to upset you, highness?"

"Other than calling me highness?" Her eyes cut to him. She's requested he call her by her nickname. Both of her hands gripped the edge of the fountain ledge she sat upon. "I promise I have no blades on me, nor any sharp objects. I didn't wander off with intent to add to my collection." Her words were sharp and bitter.

Jeb frowned. He hadn't even thought of such a thing. But someone must have intimated it to make her speak so.

Jeb took a seat beside the princess without being invited.

"What brought this on?" He brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips, a touch of familiarity that pushed the bounds of forwardness even further.

"I was with DG and mentioned that I wanted my hair trimmed to keep it like this," one hand drifted up to run fingers through short, textured locks. "I said that if the hairdressers attempted to refuse, I'd do it myself."

Azkadellia looked away, "DG… she went all pale and she looked at me… I've traded one kind of distrust for another but it all amounts to the same thing: I can't be trusted." That last was said softly, through a throat gone tight.

"I don't think it was necessarily distrust, Az," Jeb lay his palm atop the back of her hand now. "I think you may have just reminded her of things."

Her words reminded him. The too sharp image of breaking down her door to find her with her long, flowing tresses littering the carpet, her back, her arms, mixing with the blood coming from deep cuts sliced across pale arms. The acid taste of his own fear and horror at the sight and trying to staunch the blood flow. The knot of pain in his chest as his heart had pounded in his ears.

It was a night he would never forget, and never wanted to see the likes of which again.

"You can't stop memories. You, above all, know that. But that doesn't mean you aren't trusted." Jeb willed her to look at him.

As if he had that power of will, she turned to search his face for some sign of deception.

Her eyes, always a bit haunted, showed a trace of hope.Jeb did something he'd never have imagined doing over a year ago. He unsheathed one of his large knives and held it out, hilt first, on his palm, offering it up to Azkadellia.

She looked down at the blade, glistening in the moonlight reflected, eyes large in wonder, and shimmering with the start of tears. One tipped past her lashes to trace down her cheek, a falling star. She wrapped her delicate fingers against the smooth wood, her fingers small in the indentations carved for his own larger digits.

"Thank you," her voice was choked and rough now.

She held up the blade, examining it in the light of the full moon. It was razor sharp, and had taken many lives. The blade had been baptized in blood, and had been repeatedly washed in it. It had been used to protect her as well as to oppose the witch that once controlled her.

And he had handed to her with complete trust.

"Keep it for the night." Jeb pressed. He hoped to show her that he trusted her alone with the blade.

He had talked long with Raw on why Azkadellia had been hurting herself. He now knew, intellectually, the reasons, the compulsion, and that when she was feeling hurt and despondent, she was more likely to cut herself. He trusted her not to. He had faith in her. And sometimes, people tried to live up to the trust others gave them.

"I can't," a soft sigh, a breathy objection.

_Can't what? Take it. Keep it and not use it? Face this kind of trust?_

He leaned in, invading her space to get close to her ear. "You can."

She looked at him again, her whole countenance full of wonder and gratitude. She offered him a smile.

He accepted it by brushing away the tears on her cheeks. "You have to learn to trust as well, Az. Don't always assume the worst."

She sighed, leaning in to that limited caress. "You are a very special man, Jeb Cain."

He shook his head in denial, "No, I'm not. I'm just a man." _With a man's limitations._

He stood once more. He was close to the limit of those very limitations. He ached to press a kiss to her soft lips. But it that would be too much too soon. Instead he offered her his arm. "Can I see you to your room, or would you rather see more of the garden at night?"

"I think," she took his arm, "I should go to bed before I make anymore of a fool of myself."

"Not a fool, princess. Never that. Just human." Jeb led her inside, their pace unhurried.


End file.
